Chameleon's Riddle
by TheRandomScribbler
Summary: When usurpers attack Mirkwood, kill her king and take over power, Legolas is forced to flee. He must live as a human to hide his identity, but how long will the facade work? An old friend is searching for the prince, but so are the bloodthirsty rebels...
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

_The swiftness with which they attacked was staggering._

_Legolas had no idea such an uprising was about to occur._

_The warning came, and then, moments later, the throne room was flooded with bloodthirsty rebels led by Aglar, the heartless, power-lusting exile banished from Mirkwood decades ago for unspeakable crimes against the throne. _

_Legolas's brother Elaran, the High King of Mirkwood since Thranduil had departed for Valinour, had stolen Legolas aside in a tiny broom closet as the attack occurred._

"_They are searching for me, I cannot be long," he whispered urgently. He shoved Legolas's weapons into his brother's hands with a few maps and a sack of gold._

"_Get out of here, Legolas," he said. Legolas's eyes burned steely, determination set in them._

"_I'll not leave you," he said fiercely. "I'll fight with you, my brother, until the end."_

"_Don't be a fool," Elaran hissed. "They will kill you if they find you. My life is already as good as gone…you are the last in our line, Father has no other sons! You must flee, Legolas. 'Tis our only hope for the future…"_

_Dying screams of those loyal to Elaran sounded from outside. Legolas's brother looked sickened._

"_For the love of the Valar, Legolas, do as I say," he pleaded. "Leave. Flee. Save yourself…and our people, when the time comes."_

"_Elaran, I—I cannot—" Legolas was horrified at the thought of leaving his only sibling to be murdered by the ruthless rebels. He could not bear the thought of wise, gentle Elaran being slaughtered by the would-be usurpers._

_Elaran could see that Legolas was not persuaded, but time was growing short. Every second of hesitation hastened Mirkwood's demise and lessened Legolas's chances of escape._

_Elaran set his jaw grimly._

"_All right, Legolas," he said softly. "I am sorry to do this. But as your king and commander in chief, I hereby order you to escape and save yourself. Do you understand? I am forcing__you to obey me."_

_Legolas's heart froze. He had to obey. Here Elaran was not his brother but his king, his superior, his liege, whom he was required to obey under every circumstance._

"_Elaran…"_

_He swallowed, and hugged his brother tightly. Elaran embraced him back and for a moment all sounds of war faded away as the brothers held each other one last moment._

_Then Elaran withdrew, his face set grimly and determinedly._

"_When we withdraw, I shall cover for you, and you shall wait three seconds for my diversion to take place. You shall then go to the king's chambers and lock the doors to buy yourself time. Then use the balcony as a mantle for escape. Do you understand?"_

_Legolas nodded soberly. _

"_All right, then, here we go…now."_

_And with that, Elaran leapt from the closet, loudly proclaiming his presence to the rebels in the hall._

_Legolas counted to three then leapt similarly, to the right, in the direction of the king's chambers. He reached the doors leading there and could not help twisting his head back to see what was going on._

_This was the last he ever saw of Elaran._

_His final view of his brother was of Elaran being cut down viciously and not even gloriously by the rebel leader but by a mere soldier, no one important. Elaran was overrun, and was putting up only a minor fight. He had willed himself to die, and was sacrificing himself for Legolas's escape. Not only that, but Legolas would be the only hope for the restoration of the kingdom. If he died, Mirkwood would be doomed to an eternity of terrible domination and oppression. _

_Legolas blinked back tears as he saw Elaran's head snap to the side and his brother's body slump to the floor, dead. At that moment, Aglar himself rounded the corner and saw Legolas escaping._

"_Fly, little coward, fly!" he crowed, eyes glowing madly. He drew an arrow, then spat upon the face of Elaran just to spite Legolas, and sneered at Legolas's face, which was white with anger._

"_But it is useless," Aglar hissed, stalking towards him, bow pulled taut. "You will be vanquished, just as your brother was…"_

_He pulled the string back and let the arrow fly—but Legolas had snatched a tiny dagger from his belt barely in time, and it found itself buried in Aglar's shoulder, throwing the elf's aim far off target._

_Legolas fled into the king's chambers. Behind him, he heard Aglar screaming furiously._

"_Seize him, fools! What are you waiting for?"_

_Legolas slammed the oak doors to the king's chambers and locked them before ramming up against them all the heavy furniture from the room._

_He flew to the balcony, crouched and leapt straight up into the branches of an overhanging tree. He turned for one last glance into what had been his father and then his brother's chambers, before ascending as high into the trees as he could and fleeing the palace forever._

-Chapter 1-

Thirteen years had passed since that day.

Legolas leaned on his spade and sighed. His eyes traced the perimeter of the field carefully, like he had done thousands of times before, searching out any sliver of movement that might mean danger.

Except now in his hand he carried not a bow, but a crude wooden spade made for plowing the earth. The borders he surveyed were not his own, but those of a human who would pay him a meager amount for his work at the end of the day. The only danger he would encounter in the surrounding woods or anywhere local for that matter was a knife-wielding drunkard, easily avoidable, or occasional thief – and this generally a bored youth whose discontent with his lot in life was generally cured by a day in the stocks and a firm whipping upon the buttocks. No longer did he hunt and kill orcs and goblins regularly, or need to fear the devious spiders which made their homes in the trees.

No longer was he known as Legolas, Crown Prince of Mirkwood, and deadliest archer in all of Middle Earth. Instead, he was called in his own homeland as the Lost Prince – and this by the secret loyal, whose fealty to the true royal line was forever a deadly secret stored in their hearts. To the usurpers and traitors, and to those whose hearts lay truly with the rightful heir but whose cowardice or perhaps fear for their families held them fast to obedience to their new masters, he was known as the Despised One, the coward, he who ran like a maid instead of fighting—and dying—after the death of his brother.

And to those who knew him now, and had known him for the past decade, he was known as Peregrinus, a name which he had derived from man's language as meaning "stranger", which he certainly was here. Nearly all the men considered this name presumptuous and an overstress of their vocal chords for something as simple as a name, and therefore referred to Legolas merely as "Perry". If they remembered the true name he offered them it would be a wonder, a true miracle at that.

It was to this name Legolas had become sadly accustomed to responding, and his ears perked up slightly at the sound of a coarse human voice yelling it just now several times in succession.

"Perry!" Legolas was certain the human must have called him at least four times by now. He remained fixed in thought, or at least offered the pretense of such, in hopes that he might be able to provoke several more summoning before the frustrated human stormed over to demand an answer to the other worker's apparent deafness. It was low enough humor indeed, the elf reflected darkly, and shameful that he had been reduced to finding entertainment in such truly petty situations.

A rough clap on the side of the head which Legolas had anticipated easily several seconds before actual impact caused him to decide to finally pay his attentions to the one so desperately seeking it.

Tomas, a middle aged man of stocky build and scraggly beard much like the vast majority of men around here, stood beside him, an irritated look in his eye and a flask of something foul-smelling in his hand.

"It's eatin' time," he informed the elf, holding up the flask. "Conner's wife roasted one too many chickens last night an' he brought it over here to share before it goes bad."

Legolas merely nodded, seeing this bit of information as hardly provocation for response.

Tomas sighed deeply. "Do you want to eat with us?" he ground out. Legolas knew it was cruel to tease the human so, but the elf himself never claimed to be a saint nor overly virtuous, and his present moody temperament had no problem with his cat and mouse games.

"No, thank you," Legolas declined politely. "I had a hearty breakfast indeed, and a stomach too full makes a man lazier than a cat in the sunshine."

He laughed inwardly at what his brother might say to hear him using such language, but his stomach immediately clenched tightly at the thought of his brother, and the humor in the situation vanished as if it had never existed.

"At least rest," persisted Tomas. "You get out here before any of the rest of us, and we get here before the sun. You never take any water breaks and you never even stop for a breather."

"Fewer hours yield fewer coins at the end of the day," Legolas returned lightly. Even though he had very little need for his earnings, as he had a quantity of wealth hidden in his home, no one else in the village had such wealth and it was entirely expected that a man earned as much as he possibly could.

Tomas scowled; Legolas had completely avoided any of his accusations and moreover was making the rest of the men looks like lazy fools.

Legolas knew he shouldn't have responded like that; after ten years here he was almost completely invisible and he should not be risking exposure now. In order to avoid being labeled as unusual, he took breaks when he didn't need to, ate more often than he felt hunger, and complained needlessly when he truly felt no fatigue. Lately though something had taken hold of him, a deep desire to return to his roots, to his true identity, and he had started forgetting to behave like a human and had started to behave naturally like an elf.

Too late now for recovery though; Legolas smiled at Tomas and returned to his work. This was something else suspicious about Legolas; he had not physically aged a single day in the entire ten years he had been there, while the rest of the town was well on its way to growing older. The young girls he had met upon his initial arrival were becoming engaged, married and mothers one by one. The young men apprenticing in their father's shops were now working more than their seniors, and many of them supporting a wife and multiple children. Many of the elderly citizens of the village had passed on, and many of the young, vibrant men and women of middle age were now becoming the elders themselves, with pains in their joints and slowed reflexes and abilities.

Legolas, however, had looked the human equivalent of early twenties upon his arrival, and to that very day no change whatsoever could be marked upon his face or body. He had tried to cause his face to age, and tried to seem slower in form, but it could not be done. The best he could do was attribute it to excellent genes, and assure those suspicious that his parents had been blessed equally.

In his years there had also been forced to endure the solicitations of many a maid, whose affections for the prince, far more attractive to the women than any man in the village by a long shot, were rarely masked much, if at all.

Presently he was dealing with the unwanted courtship of Leana Birch, the village beauty, the desire of every man in the village – except, of course, for the elf on whom she had her sights set. She was pretty, Legolas would not deny that, with a comely form and trailing dark hair, but that had little bearing on his attraction to her. She had approached him multiple times on the subject, and not as flirtatiously as those in the past had, but with seriousness in her blue eyes as well as mischief, begging to know why he would have her.

"You do not understand the sacrifice such a thing would require of me," was all Legolas would say, frustrating her to the point of tears at times. She would beg and plead and scream and demand to know whether she was truly beautiful as she had always been told. To this Legolas would respond gravely and politely that she was as physically perfect as any woman he had ever seen – truthful in its entirety as Legolas spent most of his time around elf maidens, the simplest of whose beauty far surpassed the most exotic human. He did not feel compelled to share such information, however, with Miss Birch.

Leana did not understand, of course, and typically became so upset that to become attached to her would be an immense sacrifice that she would wind up in tears. In fact, she visited so often and become a watery mess so many of the times that Legolas wondered why she even bothered to come. Surely she must understand after dozens of visits that he would not have her. Naturally, none of the other men in the village could understand it either. They certainly would not have found it a sacrifice in any way to be bound to Leana for life.

Legolas had purposed that next time Leana paid her attentions to him, he would have prepared beforehand by arming himself with a list of eligible young men with bright futures in whom Leana could possibly vest her interests.

Legolas nearly sighed when he realized it had been more than a decade since he had so much as set eyes on a maiden of his own kind. Though he was not the lovelorn type, nor one who became easily fixated on maids and chased them endlessly, it was more a reminder that he had been in such desperate hiding for so long a period of time. It had been more than a decade since he had seen any of his own kind, male or female.

Legolas bent back down to continue his work. He wanted to finish early today so he could get an extra hour of his version of personal fitness in—practicing knife play or archery in a back room of his house. Completing the work early never posed a problem; the work was simple and the elf strong and tireless.

The rest of the day continued without event.

Legolas returned to his home and paused a moment, hovering on the threshold, gazing up at the roof of his small house. He reflected with a bitter smile on how different the clay walls and thatch roof of the house were than the stone walls and lavish decorations of Mirkwood's palace to which he was so keenly accustomed.

Legolas went inside and shut the door, musing. The last he had seen of his true home was the cold stone balcony off which he had leapt to escape the traitor Aglar's soldiers, to save his own life. It had been difficult to leave the palace, but even more difficult to flee the forest when he could hear the dying screams of elves loyal to him refusing to vacate the palace.

Yet he had done so, following Elaran's orders, knowing that with his brother dead he, Legolas, was the last hope for Mirkwood if she was ever to have peace and order again.

His efforts were nearly in vain the year after his escape, when he discovered how hotly Aglar was after his blood. The usurper had sent more than a hundred elves after him, searching Middle-Earth for the lost prince, the only one who could threaten Aglar's claim to power.

Legolas had been hiding out in the foothills of the Misty Mountains for several weeks when a contingent of Aglar's guards came upon him by surprise. He had just barely been able to escape them, and flee again to distant woods, where he remained for several more weeks.

He never stayed in the same place for more than a month. Typically he would make a small camp and remain there until the game in the area became less plentiful, or when he felt unnerved for whatever reason.

The year following his close encounter with the elves he was found and attacked again. This time, their force had doubled, and instead of the ten elves he had escaped previously, there were now twenty of them.

Unfortunately, Legolas had been captured.

He was beaten, bound and hauled off back towards Mirkwood—Aglar apparently had given orders that when found, and Legolas was to be brought back so Aglar himself could have the pleasure of taking his life.

A piece of irony, however, saved Legolas's life this time, as well as a mystery that would plague him for a decade.

While crossing through the forest, the group was attacked by a pack of orcs out looking for trouble. While ultimately the elves came out victorious, Legolas used the fight as an opportunity to steal a knife, free himself, steal his possessions back and slip away undetected. He did not stick around long enough for the elves to discover their loss, instead making haste to get as far away as possible.

He had, in fact, done far more for them than he owed them upon his escape.

Legolas occasionally remembered the event, pausing to contemplate…

_Legolas finished severing his bonds and collected his weapons easily and swiftly. He was turning to flee again when the anguished cry of a fellow elf caught his ear._

_There was no reason for him to turn back. After all, he knew that every elf in the area was trying to either kill him or keep him captive so someone else could kill him._

_But he turned, instinctively responding to the cry for help from one of his kin, and upon doing so saw a huge orc holding an elf by the throat. The elf hung limply in the orc's grasp, trying feebly to pry its claws from his throat. In his hand the orc held a thick spear, poised above his head, ready to strike the elf through the heart._

_Legolas's eyes locked onto the other elf's, and without thinking, Legolas scooped a sword from a dead orc's hand and buried the blade into the orc's heart. It gave a terrible screech of death then slumped to the forest floor, dead._

_The elf slumped to the ground as well, but he was not dead._

_He tried to give a weak cry to alarm his fellows of the prince's imminent escape, which angered Legolas. After all, had he not just saved his life? _

"_I should have expected nothing more from a traitor," the prince hissed at the elf, before turning in disgust and fleeing into the forest._

Legolas made a face of slight disgust upon this memory. The incident had been soon forgotten, however, as keeping his identity confidential and his whereabouts unknown became so highly prioritized he rarely had time to ponder anything else.

A certain mystery had plagued him for quite some time though.

As he had fled into the woods, the leader of the orcs he rounded upon him suddenly from behind a tree, seizing him by the throat and holding a knife to his chin. Legolas had time neither to think nor react, and was certain he was about to die, when suddenly a black-notched arrow came flying out from the trees, striking the beast in the heart and killing him instantly.

Legolas had no idea how this had come to be; the arrows were completely different from those used by the Mirkwood elves—not that they would have helped the prince anyway. And the shot had come from the trees, beyond the ring where the fighting was occurring.

Legolas still had no clue where the mystery savior arrow had come from, but had forced himself to be content with thanking the Valar for the piece of fortune, and moving on.

The third encounter occurred thirteen months later. Legolas, feeling safe, had become somewhat settled in a village called Kway. He heard rumors that a band of elves was lurking, searching for someone, but believed himself safe because Kway was a tiny, insignificant village hundreds of miles from Mirkwood.

Unfortunately, he had been wrong, and was awoken during the night to the smell of fire. When he peered outside, he saw Aglar's elves ravaging the village: kicking in doors, burning houses, holding villagers by the throat demanding to know whether they knew the whereabouts of Legolas.

The elf prince had barely had time to gather his things and flee before they were pounding on his door. As he ascended into the tree he had watched the roof of his home go up in flames, and heard the angry cries of the elves when they realized he had evaded them yet again.

Paranoid, he then lived as a nomad for the next two years. He lived in villages but only for periods of mere days. He constantly wore a hood to hide his ears and hair. He never displayed strength more than what any ordinary man would have. He acted entirely like a human, and none ever knew the difference. These are among the reasons that after this he was not caught; he left no mark or anything to suggest he was any different from anyone else. If questioned, humans of villages he visited would have no idea he was anything besides another weary traveler.

To the world of elves, it was as though he had disappeared off the face of Middle-Earth. He had simply vanished.

Finally, after twenty-five months had passed and Legolas had remained hidden in absolute secrecy, with no close calls or even mere sightings or gossip that Aglar's elves were near, Legolas settled in Fleton.

He chose it for its size and location; the village was both tiny and set far apart from Mirkwood or anywhere Aglar's elves might still be scouting.

Furthermore, he had observed the town for a few months prior to moving there and had deduced that the people were hard workers, not nosy or prone to gossip, and thus the chances that word of his presence would spread were slim.

He had found a job as a laborer and had maintained it steadily, eventually acquiring enough human currency to purchase a small house and make something of a life there.

Now, his eyes wandered to the thick oak chest in the corner of the second room of his home. This contained his bow, quiver of arrows, knives and gold which he had taken with him from Mirkwood. He never took them out, never used them. They were locked away quite safely, where they would stay until he needed them again. The only exception was the knives, with which he practiced his footwork and blade work so as not to forget his skills. His bow, however, he never used. It was far too powerful a weapon to use for mere hunting, and he did not dare let any in the village see it, lest they begin to wonder at the strange markings and marvelous craftsmanship of the tool.

Legolas bit back a sigh at the sad thought of his unused weapons.

Someday, he would return, and his blades would taste the blood of the usurpers. This he vowed silently, as he did every day, swearing mentally that he would return.

"_Fly, little coward, fly! But it is useless; you will be vanquished just as your brother was…"_

Someday, his arrow would find Aglar's heart, and then it would be the evil elf who would try to flee.

"We shall see who is vanquished in the end, "Legolas swore darkly.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Nine months passed, and things in Fleton were quiet and undisturbed.

One morning, however, Legolas was jolted awake by the terrified cries of villagers. Their screams sent shivers up his spine, and he immediately flew out of bed and flung the door open.

The instant his eyes opened, he detected the stinging smell of smoke and now as he opened the door, a burning sensation filled his eyes and mouth and he coughed, not expecting it. Covering his mouth with his tunic and squinting his eyes, he ventured forth, catching a woman by the arm to demand an explanation.

"The church is afire," she said breathlessly, tugging her arm away, eyes wide with fear. "If we cannot stop it, I fear the entire town will be lost soon!"

Legolas dashed back into his house to properly secure his hood onto his face, the extra material creating a makeshift mask which filtered the air he breathed of smoke, and headed to the allegedly flaming church.

Surely enough, the small church, which also served as a schoolhouse for the children of Fleton, was barely visible behind the wall of orange flame eating it up from within.

"They reckon a lamp broke inside, set it ablaze," shouted a man next to Legolas in an unsolicited but welcome explanation.

Wordlessly, Legolas grabbed a sack and began beating flames around the perimeter of the building.

He was concentrating hard on subduing the flames when a small scream caught his attention, followed by the much louder, piercing shriek of a woman.

"Helen has gone into the church!" came a child's scream.

Immediately, Legolas dropped his sack and headed to the source of the voices.

"Helen!" sobbed a woman, groping blindly towards the flaming window into which the child, presumably hers, had disappeared. Beside her, another small girl child of about six years watched, horrified.

"Helen," the girl child whispered so quietly even Legolas's ears could barely pick it up.

Then, before anyone could stop her, the second little girl had dashed into the fiery mass, intent upon saving her sister.

"Elesa!" screeched her mother. She lunged forward towards her child, but it was too late. Legolas lurched forward and grabbed the woman around the waist.

"Stay!" he ordered. "I will retrieve your children."

The woman collapsed to the ground and several others rushed to her side.

Legolas took a deep breath and plunged into the flaming church.

He found the second girl, Elesa, very quickly; the smoke and flames, or at least the fear of, seemed to have paralyzed her, and she stood in the center of the floor in shock.

Legolas snatched her up just before a burning beam would have ended her life, and stuffed his own cloth into her mouth slightly to filter her air, before tucking her under his arm and darting through the various rooms in the building to find the other child.

Fortunately the church/schoolhouse was small—but Legolas could not seem to find Helen. He was nearly despairing of finding her several minutes after he had been in the building, and had turned to leave, to at least get Elesa out first, when a tiny cry from the main room caught his sharp ears.

He turned sharply and spotted a tiny hand moving from under a wooden desk, the teacher's desk on schooldays and the pulpit on Sundays.

He breathed a sigh of relief and retrieved Helen, whose eyes were glazed over and who appeared to be heavily in shock, and dashed for the entrance.

He was nearly there.

But he heard calamity before he saw it, and was only a few seconds too late.

As he lunged for the entrance, the main frame of the church became loosed by flames and came crashing down on the elf and two girls.

Legolas thrust forward Elesa into the open air, into a villager's waiting arms, and cradled Helen under his own body, so the beam caught him instead of her.

His breath left him and his back was suddenly on fire; he had tried to arch it when the beam fell so the weight of his own body would not crush the child.

His body sagged, but he supported himself with an arm, rolling to the side, protecting Helen with one arm and keeping the beam from crushing her with the other. Both their legs were caught beneath other broken beams, and he could feel the heat crawling up his body.

He took a deep breath and thrust the beam off of them, freeing both his arms.

Next he braced himself and yanked his legs out from under the burning beams before standing and quickly throwing aside the beams pinning down Helen's legs back into the fiery schoolhouse.

Finally, he picked her up and stepped outside, handing her off to her sobbing mother before collapsing onto the ground, winded.

The fire was successfully subdued several minutes later, when members of the fire brigade arrived with huge tankers of water and quenched the flames.

The little girls he had saved were huddled together with their mother, and Legolas could see several villagers headed towards him, concern in their eyes.

This set off alarm bells in his head; if they were to examine his injuries closely they were sure to discover his unusual hair and ears and they would also certainly notice that his wounds healed suspiciously fast.

He lurched to his feet, swaying only slightly, before they reached him, holding them at bay with a hand which normally would have been a bit more firm.

"I require no assistance," he said breathily, and turned jerkily and fled before they could insist.

Two days later, Legolas received a knock on his door.

Slightly worried that Leana had begun her efforts to win his heart again, or that it was some town official wanting an inquiry about his wellbeing, he answered it warily.

But he was pleasantly surprised when his visitors turned out to be Helen and Elesa and their mother, whose name he had later learned was Alethea.

"We hope we are not disturbing you, sir," said Alethea with a friendly smile.

"Oh, of course not," Legolas said in rather a rush, inviting them inside and hurriedly sweeping his hunting knives off the kitchen table into a random basket, shutting the top.

"Please, be seated," he invited them warmly. The two little girls watched him with wide blue eyes as they sat down silently.

Legolas scooped up his kitten Silivren as she tried to run away, and handed her to the girls, speaking a few strict words to behave to the animal. True to the reputation of elves, the kitten was subdued immediately and had a complete mood swing, deciding she wanted to be pet and began meowing and pawing at the girls' long blonde hair. The two began to giggle, and the tension was immediately relieved.

"We just came by to thank you," Alethea said, shyly holding out some neatly wrapped filets of chicken and a bottle of wine.

"It isn't much, but…" Alethea blew out a breath as her eyes began to cloud.

"I just had to thank you for saving my girls' lives," she whispered. Legolas hurriedly handed her a cloth with which to wipe her eyes, and she nodded her thanks.

"No trouble, ma'am," he said seriously. "It was my honor."

Now that he could see their faces unobstructed by flame or smoke, Legolas could see that Helen and Elesa were identical twins.

Twins fascinated him; the only twins he knew were Elladan and Elrohir, sons of Elrond, and they were a complete anomaly as far as Legolas was concerned.

The twins, though occupied with Legolas's kitten, seemed quite tongue-tied when their mother encouraged them to thank Legolas for saving their lives, so he decided to try and make conversation with them.

"Why did you go into the church, Helen?" he asked curiously.

The little girl bit her lip. "I left Frog in there after school," she said softly. Alethea held up a stuffed green frog as explanation, and Legolas nodded. She must have been holding the toy when he saved her, and he had not noticed.

"And I had to save her," burst out Elesa, who turned bright red at the admission.

Legolas had to smile.

"I know two boys just like you, twins also, who were in a similar situation once," he said, referring to Elrond's sons. "One was trapped in a flaming barn, and the other tried to save him. Their father rescued them in the end."

"And we have learned our lesson, girls, yes?" said Alethea gently. Both children nodded solemnly, and Legolas smiled at them.

"You were very brave to try and rescue your sister, Elesa," he said softly.

"Thank you," she said shyly.

"And—and—thankyouforsavingourlives," said Helen in a rush, her face also turning red now.

"It was my honor," Legolas said seriously.

Alethea stood and indicated the girls should come too.

"Are twins very common among hum—girls?" Legolas began, then covered up lamely.

Alethea laughed gently. "You haven't seen many twins, have you? Only your friends?" she asked.

Legolas nodded.

Alethea tousled Helen's hair fondly. "They are not common, but not an entire rarity either," she said.

Legolas nodded, relieved that she did not seem to have noticed he nearly said 'humans', and escorted them to the door, where they all thanked him again then left to continue about their day.

Legolas shut his door and returned to sharpening his knives as he had been doing before their arrival. Silivren was meowing indignantly that he had put his knives in her basket, and pranced away from him as soon as he tried to console her.

The elf blew out a breath. Now it was time to remain extremely low-key until the incident blew over…before anyone could realize how quickly his injuries had healed and so Alethea would not reveal his slip up about the twins.

**Yeah, yeah. Boring chapter, I know. Bear with me and review, not because I deserve it but because you're nice people and it'll make me feel better. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

-Chapter 3-

Yet despite all his efforts to act like a human, Legolas was gaining attention, even if he did not know it.

"Perry? Damn him."

Tomas cursed at the mention of the man's name. The others looked at him in surprise.

"What's the matter, Tom? Jealous he hauled twice as much as you in half the time?" teased another.

Tomas stood up so quickly he knocked his chair over.

"Shut your face, Japeth, before I sew it shut for ya!" he shouted, towering threateningly over the smaller man. Japeth did as commanded, gulping his ale nervously while keeping his eyes down.

Calming himself, Tomas sat down again.

"It just ain't right," he rumbled. "You all seen him. Out in the fields before dawn. Stays til dusk, never eats or drinks, never takes a break, never gets tired."

"I was there the day he applied for the job," another man offered. "He isn't a bit older than that day."

"When the river flooded," added another. "He got to the middle of the river and pulled a full-grown man out like he was a child."

"The day the lamp broke in the church and the fire broke out, and the beam broke an' fell on top of the little twins, he picked it up and tossed it to the side like it was a twig," said a man named Jerome in a hushed tone. "I've never seen a man so strong!"

"No man _is_ that strong." Tomas's tone was flat as he muttered the words to himself, and the rest quit their murmurings and quietly melted away, frightened by the dark finality and threat which lay imminent in the burly man's voice.

A year passed.

A whole peaceful year since the church caught fire and Legolas had saved the twins, shouldering entire beams several times his weight as effortlessly as if they had been twigs. Tomas had been right; no man did possess that kind of strength.

Legolas made sure to take a two-month recovery period from the incident, pretending to be traumatized and without strength, though in reality the situation had hardly fazed him and his strength was scarcely tested at all. He made it seem that way, though, to quickly cover for himself, to avoid suspicion.

Several smaller incidents broke out that year in which Legolas certainly could have been of assistance but chose not to be in order to avoid attention: harmless but irritating bandits, riots at the pub and so on.

A situation arose one night, however, which Legolas absolutely could not stay out of.

Legolas ventured out to make a few purchases at the local market before it closed. As he headed towards the meat vendor's, he noticed that a crowd had gathered outside the door to the Green Iguana, the favored pub of Fleton. A woman's voice rang through the throng of onlookers, and Legolas moseyed a bit closer, catching every word easily though still at such a distance where it would not be apparent he was listening it.

"My son, they took my son," the woman sobbed.

Legolas recognized the voice as belonging to Yanna, a middle-aged widow with one beloved son whose husband had died in a hunting accident shortly after the boy's birth. Legolas had particular interest in her because, though many regarded her crazy for it, she had a queer knowledge of elves and wizards and things of the Dark Lord. Legolas had never allowed his interest to show, due to his need for absolute security in his disguise, and called her crazy like the rest. However, he always strayed close to her area in the market – she sold glass jewelry and pins and vases and the like to supplement her widow's grant given by the village – and tried to figure out exactly what she knew and how she knew it. She had a good many facts wrong, such as elves having thousands of languages and there being a secret society of them below ground, but many of her tales were historically accurate. These included the account of Isildur's fall from glory and the existence of a great and terrible evil across from Gondor. She had also told of monstrous, brutish black creatures with souls of darkness and cruelty unmatched, known to those who had dealt with them as orcs. The village people often laughed and scoffed at her for what they judged as ridiculous nonsense, and Legolas had many times wished he could assist her and refute her tales, but naturally he could not let his superior knowledge on the subject be known.

Now he listened in closely and felt a flutter of alarm stir up in his stomach as he heard the tale of her missing son.

"Corrin was out setting turkey traps in the woods this morning," she said, referring to her son. "I had instructed him to return by midday for a meal, and he had not heeded me. I was irked, but did not worry until night had fallen and he had still not returned. I went to the place where he had set his traps and instead of finding him found only a lock of his hair and _this._"

Upon the last word Legolas turned casually to observe what "this" was, and felt a sick sensation sweep over him as he instantly recognized the weapon as a black hatchet born only by orcs of Mordor.

"It was the orcs!" Yanna cried shrilly. The crowd murmured and shifted uncomfortably. They had never believed her stories, but this weapon certainly was not human and humans were the only beings which habituated around here.

"You're crazy, old woman!" shouted a few young men, but with less vigor than normal.

"No. She isn't." An old man now stood out from the crowd and faced Yanna. "I saw 'em once when I was a boy—ransacked my village and made of with all our worldly goods. I was one of the lucky few who survived."

He stared at Yanna solemnly. "I don't mean to be harsh, Yanna, but your boy is as good as dead. Those creatures have no soul, and they kill everything they want, whenever they feel like it. Even if he is still alive, it would be a fool's errand trying to rescue him."

The old man was Tarance, a village elder, and greatly respected among the people. Yanna's face had gone white at his words, and though her mouth moved no sound came out.

"At midday tomorrow we will conduct a meeting to determine the best way to keep this village safe. If the creatures are out there, they aren't likely to leave if they want our food. Even if they don't need it, they're likely to attack us just for sport."

Tarance spoke grimly and his tone left no room for argument.

"Tomorrow, midday. Go home now, everyone." He laid a gentle hand on a weeping Yanna's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Yanna," he said quietly. "But there's nothing we can do. I'll see you at the meeting tomorrow."

He turned and went back into the bar.

With that, the crowd dissipated and left Yanna alone, huddled against the wall of the pub, shuddering from her tears.

Without speaking Legolas moved forward swiftly, seized her by the wrist and glided noiselessly into the alley frequented only by cats and pub garbage. Yanna was too surprised and stricken by grief to make any kind of noise; she only followed without resistance or argument.

"Tell me where your son went." Legolas was firm and his tone urgent.

Her eyes brightened with hope.

"You mean—you're going to help—"

"Tell me where he went." Legolas was risking more attention than he wanted by helping her. The less talk, the better.

She frowned. "Who are you?"

She reached up to try and remove his hood, but he grabbed her wrist swiftly and put it back to her side.

"My aid is worthwhile to you only while I remain unknown," he said, his tone brooking absolutely no room for argument.

Slowly, and in surprise she nodded, then spoke.

"Past the cranberry fields, perhaps a mile or so into the woods. Near the east spring."

"Give me the weapon of the orc," Legolas commanded. The sooner this ordeal was forgotten, the better, and keeping memorabilia of it would help the memory loss.

"What are you going to do with it?" Yanna asked, awe in her voice as she handed it over.

"Return it to its owner," Legolas replied grimly. "In his skull."

Yanna's eyes widened, and Legolas placed a finger over her lips as she opened her mouth to speak.

"One condition to my aid, and that is your word you will never speak a word of this to anyone."

"Return Corrin to me and I will do anything you ask," she promised. "For now, no, not a word. To anyone."

Legolas nodded once shortly.

"Now go home. Do not speak to anyone. Lock your doors, do not open for anyone. Await my signal as the cooing of a dove, which will not otherwise be heard at a late hour. If your boy is alive, I will return him to you before dawn."

He took Yanna and pushed her out gently into the open street. He did not want them to be observed coming out together.

It had begun to rain, for which Legolas was grateful as the water would certainly drive most people within doors, and reduce his chances of being seen.

Yanna turned back to look at him again, but Legolas was gone.

Legolas watched her go from the roof of the one of the buildings which formed the alley, a position into which had silently and swiftly leapt in the few seconds' time during which her back was turned.

He crept down and followed her subtly until he was certain she had followed his instructions to return, speak to no one, and shut herself within her house. This accomplished, he returned immediately to his own small home and threw open the chest in the back room which was kept locked at all times, unless he was practicing with the contents.

From there he removed his beautiful bow, quiver of arrows, twin knives and equipment to strap it all to his body. His fingers knotted and looped the leather bindings as if not a day had gone by since their last use. He slid the knives into their position in his back and threw a cloak over all of it, hooding himself thoroughly. Then he slipped out the back door, which entered into the woods—a feature he had chosen specifically in case he ever needed to make an escape or leave his house otherwise unseen.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness within seconds and he leapt into the trees and traveled the entire perimeter of the village using their branches as a highway, until he reached the area Yanna had described. Here he paused, using his keen sense of hearing and sight to detect any human presence in the vicinity. He detected none, and leapt to the ground noiselessly.

He traversed close to a mile, until he came to the site where Corrin had been laying his turkey traps. He found the traps; three had been set, two unused ones lay to the side, and a final one lay flung to the side snapped shut as it would have been had it held the fowl it was designed it hold.

It was, however, empty.

It was to this trap that the elf's attention was drawn; he picked it up and, upon examination, found traces of human and orc blood upon it. A rough image of the kidnapping flashed through his head: the boy kneeling to set his trap, the orc sneaking up behind him, the boy out of surprise and instinct sending the trap whirling to catch some part of the orc's body. This explained the orc blood. Naturally, the orc would have then struck the boy in some form or another, and the a few drops of his blood must have landed on the closed trap, thus accounting for both blood types on the trap.

Legolas breathed out softly, thinking.

It was fairly likely that the orcs would return to ransack the village in a day or two. The village of Ebor lay twelve miles east of Fleton, and the town of Braddon approximately fifteen miles west. The orcs were likely to try and pillage all three villages, but if they had kidnapped a boy from Fleton, it was reasonable to think that they would do this one first. Legolas guessed that they would try to take Fleton followed by Ebor followed by Braddon, since Ebor and Braddon had the greatest distance between them and it would be difficult for warning to come quickly. Fleton and Ebor could both be done in one day, and given the distance between Ebor and Braddon, it was unlikely the citizens of Braddon would have time to hear of an attack and prepare themselves adequately.

Therefore, Legolas deduced, since the orcs would want to stay away from Ebor and Braddon so as not to be seen and the alarms raised, they would be three or four miles due north: far enough from Fleton to avoid detection yet still be within easy walking distance to attack, and far enough from the other two settlements so no hunter would wander into the woods, find them and be able to raise the alarm.

He took to the trees once again to ensure safe travel with no surprises, and within half an hour had covered four miles. He leapt to the ground again and was able to discern trampled ground and also stranger, longer tracks with occasional thicker markings at random intervals: thin gullies, like someone had been dragged but at times had the strength to stand and walk a few steps before collapsing again.

This confirmed what Legolas originally suspected; the boy Corrin was alive, or at least he had been a few hours prior. He had believed this because while orcs generally thought out their plans, they were not incredibly smart beings. Had they merely wanted Corrin's life they would have just taken it and continued on to pillage Fleton. Legolas's guess was that they had been on their way to plunder it, but had encountered the boy in the woods first, decided to take him prisoner and have a little 'fun' with him, and leave off plundering until tomorrow. It probably did not occur to them that someone might notice his absence and be tipped off then. Even if they did think this far, they were probably arrogant enough to believe that they could destroy all the villages even if said villagers were fully armed and prepared.

Which, Legolas reflected grimly, they actually may have been, given the orcs' bloodlust and the fact that the three settlements were really just generally-peaceful farming and metal-working villages with no paid militia or advanced weaponry.

Legolas followed the tracks, his light footsteps leaving no mark of his presence.

It did not take him long to find the orcs after this. He smelled the smoke of their fire and heard their raucous laughter long before they came within eyesight.

Once more he climbed into the trees and observed them from above, knowing that their eyesight was poor and they would be unable to see him in the dark, even with their fire.

He surveyed the scene beneath him unblinkingly. It was like dozens of other orcs encampments he had encountered: the fire at the center as with any camp, two or three of them wandering around keeping loose patrol, the rest, who numbered perhaps two dozen, sat lounging around eating, drinking…or paying cruel attentions to a young, dark-haired prisoner tied to a tree.

Legolas nodded to himself; there was no doubt that this was Corrin, Yanna's son. He was alive, but a bloody welt on the side of his head where he was probably initially struck, as well as raw stripes across his body clearly belied the abuse he had endured at the hands of his captors. Occasionally an orc would pick up a small stone and lob it at the boy, purposely avoiding his head—to keep him alive longer and for more sport, Legolas thought with grim fury in his heart.

Not all of the orcs were being so careful, though. Legolas watched with alarm as one of the biggest orcs picked up a rather large stone and hit the boy in the stomach, causing him to retch and throw up water and blood. The contents of his stomach must have been emptied long ago.

The orc leader then picked up his long leather whip and began to thrash the boy relentlessly. With each stripe laid upon his body the lady cried out weakly, causing the orcs to roar with laughter and begin placing bets on how long he would last.

"Hear how he squeaks, lads!" roared the biggest one.

"Aye, Gruznak!" cried several of them in drunken agreement.

"Five coppers says he won't last the hour," snickered a smaller orc. Cries of agreement immediately went up.

Gruznak raised his beefy arm to administer another blow, and Legolas knew now was the time for action. Corrin had suffered much already, and unfortunately, the orc's prediction that he would not last the hour was probably correct.

Gruznak's arm was raised, but it never fell, for at the moment it would have lashed Corrin again, an arrow sailed straight into the heart of the beast, and he fell to the forest floor, dead, the whip in his hand.

The camp was immediately in an uproar.

Mugs of ale, utensils and plates were all tossed aside and the air was filled with the clashing of metal as the orcs seized their weapons and took to the forest immediately to find the source of the arrow. Legolas watched the chaos from above, trying to strategize a way to reach Corrin and get him to a safe enough place where he could leave him and then return to destroy the camp of orcs.

He jumped to a spot opposite of where the boy was and casually shot a few running around in the woods, whose deaths would go unnoticed by those near the light.

"I'm over here, filth," he called, allowing his voice to float far further than he actually was using a vocal trick all the elves knew, the art of throwing one's voice.

"All hands over here!" cried one of the orcs shrilly, and Legolas saw his opportunity.

"What about the whelp?" demanded another, but the first waved a dismissive hand.

"We don't care about the whelp! He's going to die anyway. Find the intruder!"

As the camp emptied, Legolas knew he had only a few moments before they returned. He swiftly ducked down into the camp, severed Corrin's bonds with a single slice of his knife, and scooped the boy into his arms before ascending into the trees once more. He found a sort of flat area high up in one of the trees, and set Corrin upon it, nestling him into it as best as he could. He wrapped the boy in his own cloak to protect Corrin's wounds from the rough bark of the tree, and gently tied the boy to a slender limb, to prevent him from falling. He whispered words of reassurance and the need for silence to him before leaping back to the lower boughs of the tree, and back into the clearing.

Once there, he loudly proclaimed his true presence to the orcs in a strong Sindarin, which he had scarce spoken aloud in years. At once the orcs flooded back around him and he shot them heartlessly one at a time, and when his arrows ran out he took his knives and cut them to pieces. They were not very well trained artistically speaking, and many of them were in a drunken stupor, unable to so much as walk in a straight line much less fight a deadly elf.

In the end, Legolas killed all of them and suffered only three small scratches across his face and arm, which would soon heal.

He piled their carcasses and burned them with their own fire. The weapons were a bit more problematic, as obviously metal would not burn. He dug a pit with a spade he found among their things, and piled them into it before burying it. He had to admit it was a fairly shoddy job, and the least bit of upturning of the dirt would reveal bits of metal and likely spark curiosity, but it was the best he could do for now. Perhaps, he thought, at some point he would return to bury them more properly. At any rate, game was scarce in this part of the forest, as were natural resources, and it was too far to farm. Therefore, none of the villagers would d be wandering around here anytime soon, and if the things were found years from now it likely would not matter. So long as they did not figure out who the champion was, Legolas cared not.

Now for the matter of Corrin. Legolas hastened back up to where he had left the boy, and moved them both to a spot where the trunk of the tree split and formed a flat surface wide enough for him to lay the boy down and also kneel beside him.

Legolas dressed the wounds with the little medicine he had brought, and water, which he had taken from the orcs but had tasted and judged clean.

He exchanged the boy's torn and bloodied shirt with a clean one he had 'borrowed' from the tailor's shop on his way back from meeting with the boy's mother (with intentions to buy another tomorrow and 'accidentally' pay double for it) as well as breeches he had acquired in the same manner.

Legolas then tipped some water down his throat and splashed a little over his face to try and revive him. Though he had been conscious when Legolas first rescued him, it had been only barely, and it was unsurprising that he had fallen unconscious between the time Legolas left him in the tree and when he returned to him.

At first, Corrin elicited no response, but Legolas kept trying and gradually the boy coughed, tried to sit up, gasped in pain at the attempt, and fell back, coughing violently.

"Don't fear, Corrin," Legolas said softly. The boy's eyes sought his, but Legolas covered them quickly with a gentle hand so he could not see his rescuer's face.

"I am a friend," Legolas said simply in explanation. "I have cleaned your wounds. Are you able to sit? Here is some water that you may find refreshing."

He helped Corrin sit and assisted him in getting the water down his throat. The boy's jaw was swollen, likely broken, from where a rock had struck him before, and he whimpered slightly every time he had to move it.

Legolas would have liked to get some food into Corrin's stomach, but he was reluctant to force movement of the jaw any more than was absolutely necessary. He therefore decided just to get some more water into the boy but leave off the solid nourishment for his mother.

Legolas bound Corrin's jaw tightly so it would be jostled as little as possible on the journey home. He then bound his weapons to his body, descended to the ground with Corrin in his arms and began the walk back.

It was much slower going than when he had been solo, bearing a wounded burden and whatnot , and instead of the hour it had taken him to reach the boy, the return trip took nearly three hours.

"Lie still, Corrin, you are nearly back home," Legolas murmured as they came upon the back door to the boy's house. Legolas gave the bird signal he had told Yanna to listen for earlier as indication they had arrived.

The door flung open almost instantly, and Yanna gave a piercing cry of relief upon seeing her son in Legolas's arms.

The elf pushed past her into the house, hissing at her to be quiet as he did so.

She followed him, shutting the door, wringing her hands anxiously.

Legolas set him on the first bed he found and turned to the mother.

"His jaw is likely broken, and he was lashed with a whip across the back and chest." Legolas's tone was hard and unemotional though he truly felt sympathy for the anguished widow.

"I was fortunate to encounter them early in their mistreatment of Corrin. He may have been hurt too badly to survive after much longer."

"How can I thank you…?" breathed the woman.

"You must pretend you have no knowledge of my visit," Legolas said. "Your son must say there were only two or three of the beasts, and that he slew one and escaped the rest. I must not be mentioned at all. Your cooperation is crucial."

He turned to leave.

"Please, stay…" Yanna faltered clumsily.

"I have stayed too long already. Remember my conditions: no mention of my involvement or presence. Ever."

And with that he turned and disappeared into the night, becoming invisible to Yanna within seconds in the darkness.

**Ha! Another update! Thanks for all the reviews, everyone! If this chapter wasn't unbearable, I would appreciate a few more. :)**


	4. Chapter 4

-Chapter 4-

Legolas returned to his own home having garnered exactly the amount of attention desired: none.

Quietly he removed his weapons and replaced with into the heavy oak chest.

He sincerely hoped Yanna had enough presence of mind to relay the story to her son which must be broadcasted to the village: that he had escaped.

He absolutely did not want tales of a mysterious, deadly warrior singlehandedly defeating two dozen orcs and rescuing a village boy being spread around. This was exactly the sort of news that would catch the attention of the usurpers in power in Mirkwood—those who hunted for his blood every day and would not rest until they had it.

Meanwhile, in small Fleton, a storm was gathering. Legolas did not know it, but he was about to be caught between two separate entities both hunting for him.

Huddled over mugs of ale, the men of Fleton, lead by Tomas, were plotting.

"He's not human," Tomas said darkly.

"He'll frighten the children…with strength like that he could put it to evil as well as to good," put in Japeth. All the men at the table agreed, disregarding the fact that Perry had saved multiple members of the society over the years from certain death and never once given anyone a reason to think he would use his strength otherwise.

"I propose we discover who and what this creature really is," Tomas said with a tone of finality. He looked around the table; here were gathered the strongest, tallest, best men Fleton had to offer. Tomas himself was six and a half feet tall and pure muscle; with an entourage of eight or ten other men of the same stature, they would certainly be able to force an answer out of the elusive Perry.

"Aye," came a low, rumbling chorus as nine of the twelve men seated there gave their word to help.

"When will we do this?" Japeth asked.

"As soon as possible," Tomas replied. "We'll get him alone in the forest. Just beyond the village borders will do; he may have a strong arm to lift up logs but against ten of us? He don't stand a chance."

He cracked his knuckles threateningly.

"You better watch your back, Perry. Sooner or later we'll drag your secret out."

###

It was a normal night for Legolas—well, as normal as things got when a prince of a nation is hiding out pretending to be a regular citizen of another race.

He was preparing to sleep for the night, at nearly one o'clock in the morning, when a sudden knock jolted him from his thoughts.

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously and went to the door, opening it a tiny crack, just enough to see a hooded figure outside his door.

"I have heard word that Legolas Greenleaf, _Prince_ of Mirkwood, makes residence here…I wondered…"

The stranger never finished his sentence. Within seconds of his utterance, he found himself disarmed, arms twisted excruciatingly tightly behind his back, his face ground into the hard floor, and a cold knife to his throat. The door was thrown shut, locked, and the lights had been put immediately out. The stranger was at the mercy of another now…

"How do you know that name?" hissed a voice from the dark. The voice chilled him to the bone; it was like a sweet toxin, light and lovely but coated with danger and incredibly deadly.

"It is a name known to me long ago," the stranger murmured. He did not move a muscle, knowing that if the elf felt him twitch incorrectly, his life was over.

"How?" The elf demanded. He seized the intruder's head and slammed it roughly into the hard stone floor. "You will tell me everything, and you will tell me _now._"

"Sîdh, mellon nin," breathed the stranger, and though Legolas tensed rigidly for a moment, a second later the stranger was rewarded with another slam to the head.

"Your familiarity with that tongue is not an asset to you, _friend,_" Legolas spat. He had his captive firmly in his grasp, and lashed his hands behind his back with some rope so he could assess what to do with him next.

"Who are you?" he demanded harshly.

"Remove my hood and see," the stranger said carefully.

Legolas hesitated. He figured the man could hardly be hiding an accomplice in the hood, nor some other device that could pop out and wound him, and thus stepped forward and flicked off the hood with a single swipe.

The clear grey eyes of a Ranger from long ago stared steadily into his, and Legolas took a step back.

"This is impossible," he said flatly. He knelt and roughly upturned the man's right hand from his bonds. A green-gemmed ring was borne there, leaving no mistake as to the man's identity.

With a single swift slice Legolas cut the ropes binding his guest, and hauled the man to his feet. Legolas then handed him his weapons and escorted him firmly to the door.

"You cannot stay. You must leave immediately," he said curtly.

"Is that any way to greet one you formerly recognized so well?" the human said softly, not budging.

"Indeed, I do not know you," Legolas said shortly. He would have opened the door and physically remove the man but did not want to attract the attention of any who might be wandering the streets at this time.

"Oh, Legolas, at least acknowledge me," pleaded the man.

Legolas glared at him icily, but the other did not back down.

"Strider," Legolas said, so swiftly he might have been a spy exchanging information in the most brief of moments.

"My real name, friend," Strider said softly.

Legolas paused, looked him straight in the eyes, and sighed.

"Aragorn," he finally bit out after a long silence, grimacing like the name tasted bitter in his mouth.

"You say that as though you hate me," murmured the man, a hint of sadness reflecting in his silver eyes.

"You do not know the danger you bring me by coming here," hissed the elf, facing his visitor now.

"We were once the greatest of friends," Aragorn said. "Can we not be so once again?"

"Legolas no longer exists," the elf said flatly. "You know this. Sixteen years has passed and though that is but a day in the eyes of an elf, now it is not so for it has been sixteen years in which usurpers have driven my lands into poverty and abuse. Sixteen years during which my enemies have sought ceaselessly to destroy me and cut off the royal line."

"Perhaps I could assist you," Aragorn said.

Legolas gave a coarse, dry laugh. "Have you legions of military at your command? Have you the legions of all the realms of men and elves to do your bidding and fight for me? Nay, no ruler would be so foolish as to openly align with a de-throned prince. I am the most dangerous piece on the game; those closest to me would be in constant danger as my enemies seek to take my life."

"Have you given no thought to returning to reclaim your throne?" Aragorn asked quietly.

Legolas whirled to face him, eyes blazing.

"Have I not?" he demanded. "Do you think my every thought has not been occupied by schemes of reclamation? Do you not realize that my very being is consumed by plans to return? Do you have some strange belief in my enjoyment of a lifestyle in a foreign country, hiding who I truly am?"

Aragorn did not say anything for a long moment during which the tension between man and elf was thick enough to slice with a knife.

Then, Aragorn spoke.

"May I stay?"

Legolas's icy blue eyes pierced Aragorn's grey ones, but Aragorn did not back down.

"Only this night," Legolas finally allowed. "Only tonight, and you must leave before the sun rises, before the villagers see you."

Aragorn exhaled softly.

"Thank you," he said.

**Yay, Aragorn. Everyone's favorite duo is reunited. Reviews? Aragorn will give you a cookie.**


	5. Chapter 5

-Chapter 5-

Legolas was not pleased by this turn of events.

Aragorn appeared to have hurt feelings over the fact that they had been best friends prior to Legolas's exile and now the elf refused to acknowledge him, but Legolas had closed his heart to any feelings for the man. It was too dangerous to let down his guard.

Aragorn attempted to make petty conversation, which Legolas would have none of, so the two sat with glasses of wine and some food, Legolas glancing around nervously every time he heard noise outside his home.

Finally, the elf spoke.

"How did you find me?" he asked. The thought had been at the forefront of his mind ever since the Ranger showed up.

"We needn't speak of that," Aragorn said hesitantly.

"No, we must," Legolas snapped back testily. "You are an excellent tracker, but I would not call you better than an elf. If you were able to find me, so also Aglar's men may be able!"

"It took me all this time," Aragorn admitted. "I began looking for you merely weeks after you disappeared and it was clear you were not going to return. I followed Aglar's warriors who were following you and only upon the last time they accosted you did I actually find you. I led the orcs to them, hoping they would distract the warriors."

Legolas's eyes widened as a memory resurfaced suddenly. "You saved my life," he murmured quietly. "The arrow that came out of nowhere. It was you."

Aragorn nodded. "I saved your life then, it is true. However, when I made it to the ground I was startled by a pair of orcs, and by the time I killed them you had slipped off so suddenly I lost you again. I guess I just know you better than they do, my friend…I was able to guess what you were doing and where you would go. I lost you for a while, but eventually traced you when I heard about you saving the children from the fire."

Legolas's eyes flew up, alarmed.

"Don't worry, it was merely village gossip," Aragorn said calmly. "Nothing that would go beyond their borders, and certainly not all the way back to Mirkwood."

The human sighed. "I have to admit, I was discouraged at times. Twice I returned to Rivendell, seeking my father's guidance, and a few words of encouragement."

"But always you continued your search," Legolas murmured. He felt ashamed of how he had treated Aragorn now; the human had spent the better part of two decades looking for him, and he had attempted to kick the man out as soon as he saw him.

The two sat in silence for a moment, each thinking separately but joined by similar thoughts.

"Legolas, you must return to your kingdom," Aragorn said after a moment. His voice sounded tense; he was clearly unsure of the reaction this would provoke from the prince.

Legolas sipped his wine, absently running his finger along the edge of his glass. He knew Aragorn would bring this up.

"I cannot do that," he said. "Aglar and his army are too great a force."

"But there are people loyal to you," Aragorn persisted. "Your people need you, Legolas."

"I cannot avail them," the elf said sadly. "And perhaps they are not so miserable as you believe."

"They are," Aragorn disagreed softly. Legolas looked up at him incredulously.

"I have been there," Aragorn added quietly, and Legolas jerked with surprise, eyes narrowing. "Your people are miserable. He has jailed those still loyal to you and threatened with death or exile those who mention your name favorably, or speak against his reign. What is more, Aglar is destroying the land. Mirkwood's storehouses are running low, and the king's deer are nearly extinct."

Legolas blew out a breath as he took this in. "I failed them, Aragorn. When enemies streamed in around me, I fled, like a milkmaid. I cannot avail them now."

"You are not a coward," Aragorn said, seeming to read Legolas's mind. "Had you not fled, you would have been killed, the royal line of Mirkwood broken, and your kingdom permanently destroyed."

"I know this," Legolas responded. "But the feelings of failure and weakness are so powerful. Every day I see the looks of those who saw me flee. It was like betrayal, Aragorn."

"Return to them," Aragorn urged. 'Claim your kingdom, Legolas, it _is_ yours!"

"Indeed, I shall when you do," Legolas bit back snappily, and Aragorn was momentarily so taken aback he shut up.

"That is a different scenario, Legolas, and you know it," Aragorn said angrily. "Gondor has a steward. She is not prepared for the return of the king."

"And neither is Mirkwood," Legolas said shortly.

"Nor is Gondor strong enough to withstand the inevitable attacks from Mordor, should I be revealed as Isildur's Heir and reclaim the throne," persisted Aragorn.

"And in the same manner, I could not hold my kingdom a fortnight before it would be taken from me," Legolas replied immediately. "Would that I could return, Aragorn. I simply cannot. I possess not the strength to reclaim the throne, nor hold it if that venture by some miracle succeeded."

Aragorn ground his teeth and sighed.

**Yeah, yeah. Short chapter, I know. Sorrys... :( but hey, not every chapter can be novel-length, and this stuff is imporant and deserved not to be mashed in with another chappy... :P**

**P.S. I just watched Secret Window and am thoroughly freaked out now...was anyone else creeped out by that movie? Reviews might help me feel better! ;)**


	6. Chapter 6

-Chapter 6-

"Fools!"

Aglar's angry voice thundered through the Great Hall in Mirkwood's palace, not for the first time that day nor likely the last.

"Sixteen years and still you have not found him, nor any trace of him!"

Angry, Aglar grabbed the serving maid who had been innocently pouring his wine and minding her own business by her throat and threw her to the ground.

Aglar's guards shuffled their feet at the rough, undeserved treatment but said nothing, knowing they would receive worse if they contradicted him or put their necks out for the girl.

She picked herself up quietly, fairly accustomed to his abuses, and set to pouring him wine once again.

"My lord," Gallith began uneasily. "We are trying. We have followed every single lead we have received, offered great rewards, and hired trackers. The prince's abilities, I'm afraid, are simply unmatched."

"Then learn to match them!" hissed Aglar furiously.

"We nearly caught up to him several times in the first four years," said another soldier helplessly. "But then he simply disappeared, my lord."

Aglar ground his teeth in rage.

"It is _essential_ he is killed," he said darkly. "With him alive, there remains a permanent threat to our rule. Only when Legolas is killed shall our rule be secure."

* * *

True to his word, Aragorn left the next day before daybreak. He hesitated as Legolas ushered him out the door, hoping the elf would invite him to stay longer; after all, he had searched for years to find the prince, and now the elf apparently did not even want to see him. He knew in his heart that Legolas was merely protecting himself, but it still hurt just the same.

In truth, Legolas would have very much liked for the Ranger to remain his guest for awhile longer. But he knew it was not safe; before long, people would notice and start to ask questions. Besides, Aragorn was an extremely important figure himself and it was not unlikely there were people after him, too.

So he escorted the Ranger to the door before the sun rose and bid his old friend farewell.

"Perhaps we will still live to see each other once again," Legolas said.

Aragorn touched his hand to his heart in the traditional elven farewell, and Legolas did the same.

"Namaarie," Legolas whispered. A lump unexpectedly rose in his throat; it had been more than a decade since he had spoken that tongue to another. Even in his own home he rarely spoke it, fearing to be overheard.

Aragorn whispered the same farewell before turning and disappearing into the darkness.

Legolas went back inside.

He remained at home for the entire day, rising from his stupor only to feed Silivren's insistent cries for milk and to once feed his own slightly growling stomach.

Yet another knock came at his door shortly after sundown.

Legolas rose and answered it; to his surprise, it was a man of the village, Reylon.

"What can I do for you?" he asked, pleasantly but shortly.

"Some extra work over by the mill," Reylon said unblinkingly. "We thought you might want in…it pays in silver, as soon as the work is done."

Legolas's interest was caught. Even though he had plenty of elven currency, it was pure gold and he could not use it without raising suspicion. He generally took every opportunity he could to earn some extra currency here that could be spent suspicion-free. And this paid pure silver, apparently…

"I'll come," he agreed, and they left immediately.

The mill was on the outskirts of the village because it was loud and rather an eyesore to the rest of the village. It was just outside the village borders, just over the bridge.

As they rounded the bend to the side of the mill opposite the village, Legolas's suspicions began to rise.

The mill wheel was not running, nor was there any sign of activity going on. It was eerily quiet and there were no working animals around.

"Reylon," he began, but stopped as six burly men suddenly stepped out from various hiding places and surrounded him.

"Get him," ordered Reylon, and then there as chaos.

Three of the men dove at the elf, who blocked them just in time.

Then all seven of them converged upon the elf. Their numbers, burlesque figures and pure muscle gave them an advantage over the elf, but unfortunately for them, Legolas's finely tuned fighting skills had kicked in the instant he sensed an attack, and he was now fighting in full form.

He didn't know why they had attacked him, but survival was necessary, obviously…and he was afraid that somehow Aglar's men had found him and struck a bargain with the men to turn him over to them in exchange for something. He didn't know how this was possible, but only presumed that it was. Besides, Aragorn's unexpected visit had put him on edge anyway, and maybe the human's well-intentioned visit had led Aglar straight to the prince…

He threw off two of the men, slamming them into the ground and knocking them unconscious with deadly swiftness.

The next two he picked off easily; they were just like orcs in that they were formless and relied on muscle to see them through. However, unlike orcs they were using fists and not swords, which made them much easier to beat in combat.

The fifth got a few blows in, unbalancing his equilibrium momentarily, but after a moment he was able to snap their wrists against one another and the man collapsed to the side, moaning and clutching his broken arms.

Finally, after several moments of combat during which Legolas was successful every time, it came down to just the elf and two others—one of which was the biggest, strongest man in the entire village.

He was at least several inches taller than Legolas, not to mention several inches thicker—and all the thickness was pure muscle.

Legolas braced himself as the man came at him…but once again, Legolas's knowledge of fighting combined with his grace and agility served him much better than the human's brawn, and Legolas was able to duck under him, lift him over his shoulder and slam him to the ground. The elf quickly ended the man's consciousness by slipping a thumb beneath his chin and using the technique to knock him out.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to the elf, Tomas was watching.

Tomas was utterly amazed by the strength that Perry showed. He had picked up the biggest man in the village and thrown him to the side like a rag doll. His fighting abilities were unmatched by even the most skilled of the group—who consisted of the biggest, strongest and best the village had to offer.

He knew he certainly would not win against the creature. He also knew he had not yet been seen by Perry, and thus chose to save his skin now and achieve his purposes later.

He launched himself at the man with whom Perry now struggled, and yanked him off the slender man. Hirum yelled, his eyes going wide with surprise, and Tomas punched him in the face before he could get a word out.

"Come on, Perry, let's get out of here," he yelled, seeming to assist the other.

"No." Perry's normally light and peaceful voice had gone stone-cold with icy fury and determination.

"Come on, you don't want all this attention," hissed Tomas. He hoped he was right—he had noticed Perry tried hard to avoid the spotlight, and hoped to hit a nerve now.

It worked. Perry hesitated. He knocked the heads of the last two man against a wooden fence post, and glided away from the group, following Tomas to his home.

"I'm so sorry about that," Tomas gasped, pretending to act indignant. "I have no idea what got into them—they'll be jailed immediately tomorrow, rest assured."

"That would be satisfactory," Perry said coldly, and Tomas was almost frightened of how different his voice had become.

Perry turned to Tomas and bowed formally. "Thank you for your assistance," he said gravely. "I will return to my own home now."

With that, he turned and left, leaving Tomas gaping after him like a codfish. He had wanted to ask more questions, get more information out of him. But the cold, final tone with which he spoke chilled Tomas, and the deadly precision with which Perry had dispatched his attackers was an image he would not soon forget.

**If I wrote "I 3 3", would that mean "I heart love" or "I love hearts"? Or am I just really really tired? I always seem to update at like 1 a.m and this is what happens...**


	7. Chapter 7

-Chapter 7-

Legolas returned to his home, deeply unnerved.

He shut and locked all his doors and windows and immediately began gathering together his things.

Silivren meowed and he picked her up, smiling rather sadly at her.

"I'm afraid it's time to leave again," he told her softly. "I'll have to find you a new home."

He gave her some milk and sat down to think.

He knew he would have to leave soon. He could wait no more than a week, and that was a generous estimate. Two or three days would be better. It would not take long for tales of his astonishing self-defense skills to get around, and the elven scouts he knew to be hunting for his blood would soon hear and come looking for him. It would take a few days, however, for that to happen, and Legolas wanted to try to tie off his affairs and slip out of town quietly, entirely unnoticed if that was possible.

Legolas bundled his weapons together and tied a cloak around them for ease of mobility. He retrieved the currency he had accumulated over the years of working in the town.

Tomorrow he would go to the market and buy a few things for travel. Then, he decided, he would take his small bow and arrows and hunt some small game which he could carry on his back for food, so he would not have to stop once he was traveling.

He lay upon his bed, blew out his candle, then picked up his kitten and, setting her upon his chest, fell asleep and did not awaken til the rays of the sun slid through the wooden slats of the windows of the house.

A few days passed. Legolas had made preparations to leave immediately. He had given his kitten to Helen and Elesa, who had returned occasionally to see him and play with the animal, and given his home to Yanna, who had always struggled for money. Someday, he thought to himself, if he could, he would return and find out how exactly she had come to her knowledge of the elves.

He decided to head to the woods to hunt some small game, just so he would not have to stop in case he was pursued and could not afford the time.

Little did he know that Tomas had been watching his every move, and now, Tomas plus twice the number of men as had attacked Legolas before followed the elf discreetly from a distance as he left the village.

Tomas was taking no chances; he took the original group, having arranged for their release from prison, and ten more men, armed with knives and other instruments.

The moment Legolas disappeared into the woods, the ambushers were upon him.

The elf had his knives, but this time the men were prepared for him and they too had weapons—as well as brute strength, their numbers and sheer determination.

Legolas managed to take out several of them, but he was overcome eventually. They forced him to his knees and bound his hands behind his back.

Then, from behind a large boulder, Tomas appeared.

Legolas's breath caught angrily in his throat and his eyes narrowed as Tomas approached him. His lips tightened, and even though he was Tomas's prisoner, Tomas still felt rather unnerved at the cold look in the other's eye. It was a look that said Perry was not to be trifled with. Tomas realized that what began as a semi-hostile mission of curiosity could turn into full-blown violence, to prevent Perry from exacting revenge (of which he was most certainly capable) on the group when he was released. If, Tomas considered, he was released.

They dragged their prisoner into a small clearing, and Tomas strode forward.

"Who are you truly?" he demanded harshly, and tried not to be alarmed by the way in which the man's eyes focused threateningly on him.

Perry held his gaze but offered no reply. Tomas slapped him harshly across the face to prove he was not fooling around, and the feeling of alarm grew when Perry acted like he never even felt the blow.

"There's more where that came from," Tomas threatened. He sank his fist into Perry's stomach to prove his point, and though Perry's breath caught slightly, his facial expression did not change nor did his posture for more than a split second.

From Legolas's perspective, it was better to let them know they weren't about to get any information from him. Obviously the level of abuse he could put up with was far greater than anything they were likely to invent, but less pain was preferable, of course.

"You will kill me before I tell you anything," he told them politely. He did not say it threateningly, although his calm demeanor really was threatening in and of itself.

Tomas threw his fist into Legolas's stomach again.

"Tell me your name!" he thundered.

Legolas repeated his previous statement, quite calmly, and felt slightly winded the third time Tomas punched him.

"Sir," he said politely. "I have been beaten til unconscious, forced to drink venom, had the bones in my fingers snapped one by one and have been captured by creatures more horrifying than the most extravagant stories you could invent for your young. You will believe me when I say I can endure whatever you have in store for me."

Tomas swore.

"Let's at least have a look at ya," he snarled.

Reaching forward, he grasped the hood which Perry wore without fail, yanked it off, and gasped with shock. A murmur ran through the small gang of men at the revelation of Perry's true appearance.

Beneath his hood shone long golden hair, some of which was woven neatly into braids which Tomas sensed had some special significance.

Perry's ears were not round like those of his fellow villagers, but instead came to a slender pointed tip. And with his hood thrown off, his face was entirely visible as well, clearing displaying his superior attractiveness and complete lack of aging.

Tomas felt his stomach drop.

"Y-you—you're—" he stammered.

Legolas's brilliant blue eyes shone with a fierce, cold fire, and some of the men began to shift nervously and step back. Tomas realized he may have led them into more trouble than they could handle, but tried to seem bold and brave and in control regardless.

"You're that damn _elf_ they's been lookin' for," Tomas said, looking terrified. "You ain't human. You're a damn _elf._"

This was news to Legolas. Apparently he had not been quite so vigilant as he had meant to be; it seemed he was closer to being caught than he had realized. Perhaps it was a blessing then to have been forced to leave thus…if he survived this…

Now Tomas's thugs looked even more nervous. None of them had ever encountered an elf before, but they had heard plenty of tales, not the least of which was that they were deadly, eternal warriors on whose bad side you really did not want to find yourself.

Legolas's lips tightened, his true race revealed. Still, they did not know he was Prince Legolas, nor would they ever drag it from him, he silently vowed. It was a perfectly calm decision, that death would come before the truth. If they handed him over to those in power at Mirkwood, his death would not only be inevitable but also likely extremely painful as well.

"There's a fat reward out for your dead body," said Tomas. "A fatter one if you're alive, but…"

He licked his lips and nervously glanced away as Legolas's eyes pierced him. Clearly he did not feel comfortable holding the elf in captivity, with good reason. It was a pity, Legolas thought rather distantly, that they would not keep him captive long. He was certain that given a few hours he would be able to loose himself from his bonds and escape. However, Tomas was nervous as an elephant around a mouse having an elf in his bondage, and clearly did not want the responsibility any longer.

Setting his jaw firmly, Tomas drew a knife from the belt of another man and stood directly in front of the elf.

"The Valar shall curse you for seven thousand years after death for destroying me," Legolas said in as dark a tone as he could manage, though of course the statement was entirely made up and his underlying tone was of mirth—though none of the humans could sense it.

Tomas bit his lip and glared. "Folly," he declared, though the look in his eyes betrayed his 'bravery'.

He placed the tip of the knife just below Legolas's left ear and took a deep breath.

Legolas too instinctively tensed, and let his eyes float shut.

He felt the sharp sting of the blade slice across his skin and gasped slightly…but the blade never finished its would-be lethal swipe across his throat, for at that moment an arrow embedded itself into Tomas's shoulder, and the man stumbled back, crying out with pain and surprise.

Legolas's eyes popped open, and he was immediately aware of both a stream of blood on his shoulder and of a hooded figure that had swung into the clearing and was taking out men left and right. Legolas noticed he was not killing any of them, however, but he had no further chance to contemplate the matter because at that moment, a beefy fist struck him from behind, likely from a last disciple of Tomas's attempting to make the master happy, and Legolas fell unconscious.

He awoke but a few moments later to a quite a different scene than the one he just left.

The entire posse of men Tomas had recruited sat in a ring, each bound to the one next to him, sporting welts and bruises on various parts of their bodies. Tomas himself sat bound to a tree, and gagged, unconscious.

Legolas was looking around warily for his rescuer when soft Sindarin words reached his ears.

"How are you feeling?"

He turned his head and his heart gave a great leap when he realized it was none other than Aragorn who had come to his aid.

"Strider," he said in a grateful rush. Aragorn gave the tiniest hint of a smile as he dabbed gently at the cut Legolas's neck bore.

"I heard about the incident a few days ago," he said grimly. "I did not trust the men not to try such a thing again, and it turns out I was right."

"Well your timing certainly leaves nothing to be desired," Legolas said with tremendous gratitude. "As you obviously know, but a moment more of delay and my life would have been taken."

Aragorn blew out a breath, looking around at the band of tied men.

"We should leave this place," he said. He had wrapped a thin bandage around Legolas's neck, although of course he could not tie it too tightly due to the location.

Aragorn stood, walked to the bound men, and matter of factly reached beneath the jaw of each and made a jerking upwards motion, knocking each unconscious.

He laid a knife at the foot of one.

"I cannot slay them, of course," he said. "But neither can I let them run back to the village bearing tales of their wickedness. This will give us a few hours to flee."

Legolas was nodding. "As soon as they tell of what happened and of my status as elf and not man, it will be mere days before Aglar hears and sends soldiers out for my blood."

He sighed softly. "Sixteen years in hiding and now I have been discovered."

Aragorn picked up a package from beside the pair and handed it to the elf. Legolas opened it to find his bow, quiver of arrows and twin knives there, along with several cakes of lembas and a heavy sack of gold currency.

"I figured we would not be able to return to the village for your things, so I retrieved them while in the village making inquiries," Aragorn said rather apologetically.

Legolas nodded in silent approval as he fastened his equipment to his body.

"You're all right?" Aragorn inquired, watching him closely.

"Apart from the cut on my neck and a few bruises, which do not require special attentions, yes," Legolas responded. He touched his neck gingerly. "It is not deep, I sense. It, along with the bruised skin, should be healed within a day."

Aragorn nodded in satisfaction. He glanced once more at the unconscious men then spoke.

"We cannot linger here," he said, and Legolas nodded his agreement.

"The question is where to go," Legolas mused. "Within a few days I must be far from here. Aglar's people will be after me…I will be a nomadic refugee yet again."

"Let us just be off," Aragorn said. "We can lose ourselves in the woods. There will be plenty of game and once we get far enough in it will be extremely difficult to track us."

Legolas nodded. "It's as best a plan as we have."

The two set off.

They traversed swiftly the entire night. Legolas had never felt so pleased or relieved to freely travel at a speed which suited him, and to not be required to fake fatigue to hide his elvish status.

They traveled an entire day after which it was decided they could allow themselves to make an encampment. They had wandered in various directions but always farther away from Fleton, and had covered their tracks extremely well. Even Aglar's elves would have a difficult time tracking them, if they were to get the information from Tomas, which probably would not even happen for two or three days.

"Where will you go?" Aragorn asked, very frankly, after they had started a fire and begun cooking some small birds Legolas had shot for super. "Find another village to live in? Try your hand at fishing, this time, perhaps, instead of manual labor?"

Legolas glared at him coolly. Then his gaze softened, and he looked away. His eyes were distant, and Aragorn knew what his thoughts were.

"I mean to go back," Legolas said softly, and Aragorn knew he did not mean back to Fleton. "You were right, Aragorn—I cannot hide forever. My people need me."

Aragorn could not help but allow himself a smile. He knew this was an enormous decision for the elf—after all, facing rebels who had killed your brother, driven you from your land and taken your lordship and power for themselves could not be a pleasant or safe situation.

"That is very brave of you," he said, and Legolas flicked his head with annoyance.

"It isn't," he disgreed. "I have been a coward for sixteen years. I should hardly be honored by calling my actions brave. Returning is merely my duty, and nothing else."

"Of course," Aragorn responded dryly. He watched Legolas, who was clearly deep in thought, waiting for the elf to speak again.

After a moment, Legolas did indeed speak.

"I do not presume to know how to reclaim my kingdom, though, of course," he mused. "I have not an army." He laughed at how obvious this statement was, but sobered again quickly.

"Perhaps you don't need an army," Aragorn said thoughtfully. Legolas looked at him, surprised.

"If you could sneak in, recruit those still loyal to you and capture Aglar, I think those under him would crumble and surrender. Aglar is the real power…the others, even his high-ranking officers, are just pawns. Leaderless, they would collapse."

Legolas thought about this for a moment then nodded slowly.

"Of course, you will never be alone, I am coming with you," Aragorn said quietly. Legolas immediately began to protest but Aragorn silenced him with a stare that said his mind would not be changed for anything.

"You're going to need my help, whether you prefer it or not," he said.

Legolas stared at him for a full moment, and then suddenly broke into laughter. A rather rough, unpracticed laughter it was, but the sounds of mirth nonetheless.

"Ah, Strider," he said softly. "I do believe this is beginning to feel just like old times."

Aragorn laughed too and laid a hand on Legolas's shoulder.

"I believe you are right, old friend," he said with a lopsided, genuine smile. "I do believe you are right."

END.

**HAHAHAHA...yes that's right, the END! :D Betcha weren't expecting that...okay, so the sequel is in progress buuuut...betcha didn't expect this story to only be seven chapters long! REVIEW :)))))**


End file.
